Unbroken
by xosidewinderxo
Summary: When a certain villain is exiled to Earth, the Avengers are forced to deal with him.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I own neither Marvel's  The Avengers nor any of its respective characters. This was written for fun and to improve my own writing skills.

**Character(s): **Loki, the Avengers (yes…all of them…well, except Thor)

**Rating: **T

**Prompt: **None

**Word Count: **3,159

**Setting: **A random field and Stark Tower

**Suggested Song: **Unbroken – Black Veil Brides

**Info/Notes: **As I stated in the notes of "Redemption," this is supposed to be a multi-part story. It wasn't intended to be that way, but my boyfriend begged me to continue it and so I am. **No**, I will not write in slash. It should remain T-rated throughout, though I'm not certain what the characters will do as of yet. However, I am willingly taking prompts and ideas. Tell me what **you** want to see and if I can fit it into the rough plotline I have in my head, I will. Basically, ask and you may receive! xD Also, thank you so much for the feedback on "Redemption!" I woke up to more emails than ever about it and I am so grateful!

* * *

The moon was full, riding storm clouds that flashed with lightning now and again, and a mercurial light shone down over the abandoned field. Corn stalks nearly ten feet high stood in lengthy rows, though they were brown and rotting slowly; the field had been left to its own devices for some time now. A massive oak tree, its boughs stretching out across the heavens, sat in almost the exact middle of the field, a silent vigilant that kept the area protected. Its branches were bare and dry, hinting at the lack of rain the area had been experiencing for some time now. The little patches of grass between the corn stalks were brown, the earth was cracking in places, gaping abyss opening up in the soil. There was a stream nearby that ran through part of the field, but it, too, was barren of any water; there was not even a tiny bit of mud within it. Heat had parched the landscape of its moisture, and the few animals that frisked here and there struggled to draw breath through nostrils cracked and in pain. No dogs ran about, no cats slunk to and fro looking for field mice – all of them hid themselves away in the recesses of barns and buildings, trying to keep cool even in the blistering summer months, where the temperature played havoc with the earth.

Moving steadily toward the oak tree were several figures. The one in the front was clad completely in iron of brilliant carmine and lustrous gold; light gleamed from its chest in the form of a triangle and at its hands were repulsors ready to take on whatever enemy they were facing. This was Tony Stark, otherwise known as Iron Man. Behind him, another male – this one attired in a suit of spangled hues much like that of the flag of America, and carrying a shield of equally bright tints – moved cautiously forward; Captain America, Steve Rogers. Following next was a woman with bright crimson hair, carrying a pair of Beretta M9A1s in her hands, her expression wary. Beside her, a man carrying a strung bow with a nocked arrow crept along, his posture ready to fire at any moment. They were Natasha Romanoff – or Black Widow – and Clint Barton – Hawkeye. At the back of their group was a man who looked startlingly out of place, carrying neither weapon nor dressed in any sort of suit, unless one counted his plain, light green Oxford and a pair of nondescript black slacks. This was Dr. Bruce Banner and while he'd deny it, he was likely the most dangerous of their entire group.

Stark flipped the visor of his suit up sluggishly, examining what lied on the ground just a few feet from the sprawling roots of the oak tree. Whatever it was had its back to them, lying as though it had been thrown down careless by some giant hand – a notion they all knew was not entirely out of this world. Stark could tell it was a human – or rather, something vaguely human in shape, but beyond that, there were few details that could be seen from his distance. Motioning for the others to remain back, he moved closer, armored suit clinking and clanging with each measured, cautious stride. The light from his repulsors acted as a beacon and he trained them on the downed object with all the caution of someone facing down a rabid and wild bear. They all knew how dangerous their line of work was, and thus, wariness was something that was ingrained in all of them, even if it was only used now and again. The person – for he could see now that he was closer that yes, it was a person, and even appeared to be a male – was almost facedown, lying on one of his arms, with long, dark hair that was entangled and in bad need of a wash veiling his features.

"What is it, Stark?" Black Widow's voice broke the silence softly as the others shifted a bit closer, despite Iron Man holding his hand up yet again.

Tony knelt slowly, every muscle beneath the iron taut and stretched as thin as a rubber band, potential energy flooding through his system. He extended one hand very slowly and lifted away the ebony tresses – and as he did so, felt his heart stutter in his chest. He knew that face, gaunt and disfigured as it was. He knew that armor, despite that it was torn and shredded and the vast majority of it was missing. He knew exactly who this was, lying unconscious in a random field not twenty miles from New York City. And he knew the panic that would shoot through the others as soon as he uttered the name of the person. This had been over for two years; Manhattan was almost rebuilt, the damage almost finished and hidden away. The news reporters didn't speak of it anymore, the government had quietly hushed everything up so that life could attempt to go back to normal. Only the Avengers remembered now the horror that had come to earth two years ago, and now that seemed to be back. Stark swallowed thickly before he looked up at his comrades and spoke a single name. "Loki."

He had been right, of course. The change was instantaneous and would have been amusing had the circumstances been much different. Barton aimed his notched arrow directly at the back of that head, ready to put an arrow directly through the male's eye socket, as he had promised to do long ago. Natasha cocked her guns, while Rogers moved closer, shield at the ready to either defend or attack. Only Dr. Banner stayed back. Stark placed a hand on Loki's chest and pushed until he was lying prone on his spine, still unconscious. It was then that they saw the horror that had become his mouth. Thick, black string ran crisscrossing over his lips, effectively sealing his mouth shut. But that was hardly the worst of the disfiguring scars on his countenance; what looked like blisters or acidic burns ran along his lips as well, extending from one jawbone to the other and running down his throat underneath his dark hair. Tony could feel, through his armor and the thin tunic that the fallen god wore, that Loki was pathetically thin and they could hear his breath wheezing slightly in his throat.

"Holy shit." Natasha whispered, staring down at their damaged enemy's ruined mouth. She wasn't the only one who swore an explicative. Both Barton and Rogers cursed as well, and as Banner slowly moved forward, they saw his lips move in a silent swear as well. This was no muzzle, meant to keep his silvertongue from lying and wooing until he was off of Earth; this was a thing terrible and unchangeable – the wrath of the gods who punished without mercy. It was the Widow who lowered her weapons and moved forward to help Tony, her fingers brushing over the god's chiseled but entirely too thin countenance; Loki uttered a moan that made them all jump but he did not appear to be coming around. Her bright green gaze met with Stark's wary browns and immediately, the two knew. "We have to help him." Natasha said it flatly, simply, without fanfare. And as she had expected, she was met with resistance.

"Natasha, this is Loki!" Barton's voice was sharp. "Have you forgotten what he did to us?" _What he did to me?_ Clint didn't state it directly, but she saw it in his gaze, haunted and wary. He still had nightmares of what had happened. "We should kill him or leave him here; he's probably close to death anyway."

"Tasha, he might be right." Rogers said quietly, looking down with pity at the God of Mischief. "We all know how dangerous he is and we have no idea if he has any of his powers or anything."

Natasha turned his gaze to Dr. Banner, her expression pleading. He ran a hand through his hair, shifting his weight even as he came forward. Kneeling, he placed two fingers at the pulse point on the god's throat, listening and noting the beating beneath the flesh. Bruce's lips twisted as he drew his hand back. "His pulse is steady but not very strong." A careful eye was run down the god's body, noting the thinness of his form. "I just wonder how long it's been since he has eaten. He's very, very thin. Basically emaciated, from what I can tell." The doctor stood slowly, still staring down at the fallen god. He heaved a tired sigh and rubbed at his eyes. "But I agree, we should help him. We may not all like him but we owe Thor, if nothing else."

It was with clear annoyance that Clint, Rogers, and Stark gathered the limp form of the God of Lies up together and carried him toward the van that Barton, Natasha, Rogers, and Banner had rode in. Natasha swiftly bound his wrists with a length of chain, though it was obvious the god was not going to rouse himself anytime soon. With that, they left the field that SHIELD had told them to check out and headed back toward Manhattan, back to Stark Tower. Stark would, of course, beat them back, flying rather than driving and it was he who alighted down on his landing pad and walked inside as his equipment removed his suit. To his sincere relief, Pepper was out of town due to a meeting and wouldn't be back for a week. He wouldn't have to worry about her, at least. "Jarvis, prepare a spare room. Extra security on it." Tony ordered the AI as he walked over to the bar and poured himself a heady measure of whiskey.

"Yes, sir."

A good thirty minutes passed before the rest of the Avengers – _sans_ Thor, who they assumed was currently still on Asgard – arrived, with Clint and Steve supporting the still unconscious Loki between them. Stark motioned toward the couch and it was there that they put him, stretched out on the too short sofa. Bruce rubbed his eyes again, Natasha sighed quietly, and the other two men glanced toward Tony, wondering what the plan was now. Stark placed his glass down and walked toward them, gritting his teeth slightly. "We need to get those stitches out. The sooner, the better. Then one of us needs to tell SHIELD and Fury what the fuck's going on. They'll be wanting a report soon enough and I'd rather not have agents running up and down my building in a frenzy." Annoyance bled into the syllables as he spoke, but his grouchiness came only from sympathy as well as from sleep-deprivation. They had all been running on little sleep, as just a few days before they had assisted the New York City police department in a massive drug raid. When Tony turned toward the sofa again, he froze – staring up at him in a mixture of undisguised fear and malice was a pair of wicked pale eyes, narrowed to mere slits.

The reaction from the others was expected as well, each turning toward him with weapons drawn. Only Bruce watched without any sign of irritation as Loki slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, his eyes still narrowed in wariness. That pale gaze flicked from one to the other slowly, and the two assassins – trained to pick up on the slightest nuances of body language – noted that he was tensing in preparation to be attacked, not to attack. _Of course, he isn't stupid._ Natasha thought, slowly holstering her weapons. _His intelligence is right there with Stark's and Bruce's, it's just in different areas. He isn't foolish enough to attack when he's as outnumbered as this; not to mention he's very weak._ She could see that as well, the way he held himself hunched as though attempting to hide just how pathetically thin he was from them. She had a feeling he'd be baring his teeth like a cornered animal, but for the stitches holding his maw together. Her eyes, having met his now, didn't flicker away even as she heard her comrades putting their own weapons away.

"Let's make a deal, okay, Rock of Ages?" Tony spoke relatively quietly compared to his normal tone. "You make no fast moves, we'll make none?"

Loki's eyes shifted from Black Widow to Iron Man, annoyance glittering in the murderous spheres at the use of the old nickname. For the longest moment, he sat, leaning forward slightly with his manacled arms braced against his thighs, his entire body taut with anticipation for an attack. So long was the silence that the Avengers slowly began to draw their weapons again before finally the God of Mischief gave a single nod. A visible ripple of tension ran through them all at this and each one breathed a sigh of relief that it appeared as though he would cooperate. Tony nodded at Natasha and so she moved forward and removed the chains from the god's wrist. Loki watched her with all the trust of a beaten dog, visibly taut, head ducked and tilted to the side, eyes a slit as the chains dropped to the floor. She backed away as he massaged his wrists, his lips twisting faintly even though he obviously cringed in pain from it. The expression read as clearly as though he'd said it: I am not thanking you for unchaining me, puny mortal.

Tony rolled his dark eyes and approached the god with firm strides, pulling a small pocket knife from his pocket and clicking it open. The change was instantaneous. Pale green eyes widened in fear as the god shifted away as fast as his too thin body could allow him to, nostrils flaring in distress. His hand came up, fingers spread, palm toward Tony, as though preparing to blast the billionaire through his window again. A noise like a mixture of a moan of pain and a guttural snarl rumbled from deep within the emaciated chest of Loki, his skull-like visage lowered so that the long tendrils of his hair partially hid it. He was prepared to bolt, whatever the consequences, and it was only when Tony lifted his hands in a nonthreatening manner and backed away that the wounded and clearly pissed off god relaxed again.

"Moron." Natasha muttered quietly, rolling her deep green eyes.

"Yeah, no shit, Stark, what part of "no fast moves" was that supposed to be?" Clint asked, leaning against the bar and watching with a smirk.

Banner approached Loki slowly, keeping his gesticulations and walk nonthreatening and nonchalant. He spoke in a calming voice one might use on an enraged animal or a fussy child, keeping his tone light. "We need to get those stitches out. You know that, Loki. If we were going to hurt you, do you really think we'd have brought you here and unchained you?" Bruce tilted his head curiously, keeping his dark gaze on Loki's pale eyes until the god finally nodded. "Good. Now, be still or I'll have Cap over here hold you down." The threat was lighthearted but still a threat as he pulled out a small pair of extremely sharp scissors. Loki tensed immediately, his nostrils flaring again as he exhaled deeply. He braced his hands on either side of the couch and pressed down, physically holding himself still as Banner moved closer to kneel in front of him. At the first clip of the scissors, Loki jerked back with a snarl that was audible even through his forcibly closed mouth and Bruce sighed. He knew it hurt, because he could see that the skin around the stitches had grown up around them and thus it tugged on the flesh every time but they had to get them out. In that, there was no choice and since he doubted anesthetic would work on a god, this was the only option.

"Steve, come hold his head." Loki's pale eyes blazed with an infernal light as Bruce spoke, the doctor's voice measured and calm as the Captain walked over.

Steve took the god's chin in one hand and the back of his skull in the other, bracing himself and effectively trapping the ages old creature. He could feel Loki shivering faintly under his grasp, with his forearms leaning against the god's shoulders. But he was uncertain as to what emotion was causing the tremors. Loki flinched each time the scissors snapped through a strand of the stitches, shuddered from head to toe every time that Bruce gently pulled one out. His mouth was bleeding by the third snip, giving some aid to the process insofar as that it didn't hurt to pull them out as badly, but it was clear to all of them watching that the God of Mischief was in severe pain. Tony cringed, looking away as memories of his own torture rose in his head and he swiftly poured himself another shot of whiskey, swallowing it down in one immediate gulp. Even Natasha and Clint looked uncomfortable watching, Clint in particular because he still – in the tiniest corner of his mind that he'd admit to no one because no one needed to know that – admired the god, in only his strength and will. As the last stitch was pulled away, both Steve and Dr. Banner moved away, allowing Loki the chance to do what he needed to in the freedom of his lips.

The audible grinding of teeth was heard clearly as Loki tested his jaws, tied together for so long that he seemed to be questioning if they would even open. Hesitantly, his tongue darted out to touch his throbbing lips, his hand rising a moment afterward to slowly wipe away the blood. The damage done was revealed in full as the blood was rid of, holes that would take weeks to heal, scars left where the flesh had grown around the string. Slowly, Loki parted his jaws and flexed them, cringing in pain and firmly ignoring the group of people around him. He couldn't remember now, how long it had been since the needle had sundered his lips and sewn them shut; long enough that hunger was a memory, a vague twinge in his stomach; thirst was a thought, his tongue parched and dry. He swallowed, blood flowing down his throat to settle in his stomach, though it did help to soothe his aching tongue. He glanced up at them again, rigid and taut and ready at any moment to lunge into action even if secretly he doubted he'd even be able to take three steps. Finally, his gaze turned to rest firmly on Tony Stark and after a moment of silence, he spoke, in a voice that cracked dry and rusty, lacking his sleek accent of old.

"You owe me a drink."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I own neither Marvel's  The Avengers nor any of its respective characters. This was written for fun and to improve my own writing skills.

**Character(s): **Loki, the Avengers (yes…all of them…well, except Thor)

**Rating: **T

**Prompt: **None

**Word Count: **3,033

**Setting: **Stark Tower

**Suggested Song: **Faceless – Red

**Notes:** Part 2 for you guys. Thank you so much for the feedback on this thus far! Chapter three is about halfway written and I'll post it when I have at least half of chapter 4 written. That way you're getting updates and I'm not flailing about like a mad person to write for you guys. Here we get to find out what happened to our poor villain. I threw in a few of my own headcanons with this, such as time on Asgard and about Loki's powers. If you don't agree, that's fine, but let's try and be respectful, yes? Enjoy, my loves 3

* * *

For the longest of moments, there was nothing but silence ringing after Loki's quiet words. Each Avenger in turn gave the other a look, all of them except Stark wondering what the hell that was supposed to mean and speculating if they had missed an inside joke. Only Tony and Loki knew the meaning behind the words, and after a second or two, Tony gave a grin and nodded, moving back toward the bar and fetching another shot glass. He poured a healthy measure of whiskey into it and brought it to the god, extending it out in his hand with his ever-present smirk. With a tremble in his fingers, Loki reached out and took it, looking at it for a moment as though not entirely certain what to do with it – or perhaps wondering if it was poisoned in some manner. He decided it likely was not and lifted it to his mouth, nostrils flaring as the harsh tang of alcohol hit them. Parting his injured mouth, he tossed the shot back and cringed in pain as some of it got onto his lips, causing an instant sting to shoot through them. Without a word, he held the glass back out to Tony, his expression making it clear he wanted another.

"I don't think you need to drink a lot of alcohol right now." Banner said calmly as he moved toward the bar, tossing the black string into the garbage can. "When was the last time you actually ate anything?" He inquired, leaning against the bar while Tony took the glass back and returned to it.

"I do not remember." The cracked tones escaped in a whisper as the god leaned back slowly against the couch, his posture not relaxing in the slightest as he did so.

Stark and Banner exchanged a look before Tony spoke. "We'll feed you, but first, you will tell us why you're here on Earth." It was stated as a command, one that Rogers – the sort of understood leader alongside Stark – backed up by nodding.

Pale green eyes – flecked with tints of silver and gold near the pupil – narrowed in anger at the daring these mortals had. "I owe you no explanation, Iron Man." Loki growled the words out, keeping his murderous eyes locked onto Tony. "Nor do I have any need of your pathetic sustenance."

"It would be in your best interest to cooperate." Steve spoke lightly as he settled down in an armchair across from the couch. "Really, we could call S.H.I.E.L.D and tell them we have you. I'm sure Fury would quite like to see you again."

"Not to mention S.H.I.E.L.D has no problem torturing to get information." Clint's voice held a wicked grin as the archer glared at his former boss.

Loki uttered a hiss of anger, his eyes flicking from one to the other. It was difficult for his mind to call them anything other than the pseudonyms that they used – Stark was Iron Man, the archer was Agent Barton, the soldier was Captain America. In Loki's mind, they were not worthy of him calling them by their real names, and only barely worthy of his attention by getting names at all. Names were power, as much power as words themselves were and Loki wielded words like they wielded their weapons. The only one currently present he could think of beyond something highly offensive was Natasha Romanoff and it was her eyes that he met. She was sitting at the bar next to the archer, one arm resting against the marble surface, watching him with calm green eyes that he could not read. She was the only one who hadn't actually spoken yet, but instead merely observed him like one would observe a child having a tantrum in public who was not yours. It was unnerving and after a moment the god looked away from her. He did not fear the Avengers, nor the ones who had hold of their collars, because what could a spy agency do to a god? But as a ripple of pain went through his stomach, he knew it would be better to cooperate – he just didn't have to do so nicely.

"The Allfather, in all of his infinite wisdom, decided that my punishment, other than this," A hand rose toward his face, motioning to the disfigurements upon his countenance. "Would be banishment here to Midgard. Indefinite, unchangeable, until he decided that I was worthy to come _home_." The final word was snarled out, made all the more terrifying by the fact that he could not speak above a rasping whisper.

"Without your powers, I would assume?" Bruce asked, tapping his glasses on one palm.

The god loosed a mirthlessly cruel laugh that was cut off by a hoarse cough. "Foolish beast, the Allfather could not take my powers. I am not an Asgardian, his might does not extend over me."

The others tensed in anger toward Loki's callous tone, but Bruce waved it off. "Not an Asgardian? We were under the impression that you were one."

Loki's lips drew back into something like a smile, but the wounds on his jaws and cheeks made it look more like a sneer, a sort of Carnival mask meant to frighten little children and disgust adults. With that expression still in place, he lifted his right hand and shook back his sleeve enough to bare his wrist and part of his forearm. With the Avengers watching, transfixed, he allowed his flesh to take on the tone and hue of what he truly was. The deep blue tint spread up his arm and into his visage; thick, black markings twined over his head and his eyes turned into a deep crimson. The air in the room turned very cold, their breaths misting in front of their mouths. When Loki spoke again, his voice was even lower than before, dripping with self-disgust. "I am a Jotun. A Frost Giant. The Allfather cannot take the power of another species, no matter how powerful he pretends to be." He laughed again, softer and gentler this time so as not to cause a coughing fit and lowered his arm as the blue faded away to reveal pink flesh once again. His eyes shifted from carmine to pale silver – Natasha was the only one to notice that his eyes changed their hue quite often.

Tony arched a brow, clearly rather skeptical of the events that were coming to pass. "But without the glowy stick of doom, you're powerless. That thing had all the power…didn't it?"

This time, when Loki laughed, it was the ragged cackle that they had heard many times while fighting him; mad, unhinged. "You mortal fool. You call yourself a genius? My power comes from I and I alone, no sceptre changes that fact." He loosed another cackling laugh, tilting his head back even though the laughter stretched his lips overly tight and made them hurt. It was a harsh reminder to the Avengers that Loki was not quite all there. "Were I not weak from lack of sustenance and _torture_," He gutturally snarled the word. "I would show you exactly how strong I am. Exactly where my powers lie."

"But therein lies the truth." Natasha spoke casually, standing up and walking toward the god without fear. "You are weak, you are lacking in your strength and you're not foolish enough to attack us. We hold all the cards right now, Loki. Perhaps you have an ace you're waiting for, but perhaps not. Right now, whether you like it or not, you are at our mercy." The spy narrowed her green gaze at him, noting the flame of challenge that blossomed into his eyes. "A mercy that we do not have to give. I doubt S.H.I.E.L.D would fault us for killing you here and now."

"Is that a threat?" Loki hissed the words between gritted teeth, a murderous expression that could not be classified as a smile or a smirk or anything that might be slightly smug warping his countenance. Inwardly he cursed his weakness that he could not rise to approach the Russian woman.

But it was not Agent Romanoff who spoke next. Instead, it was Clint Barton, who had aimed an arrow straight at Loki's forehead. "Indeed it is." The archer stated quietly, standing beside his friend firmly.

"Clint, stop." Bruce spoke quietly, stepping forward calmly. Ironically, he was the most serene one in the room at the moment. "We're not going to kill him – it would stun me if we were even able to." He waited until both Clint and Natasha backed away before turning his attention back to Loki. "Now, for all that you posture and strut, it's pretty obvious you're hungry. But I need to know when the last time you ate was."

For the longest moment, Loki glowered dangerously at the two assassins, murder in his gaze before he turned his gaze upon Banner. "I told you, animal, I do not remember. Time where I was held does not pass the same as time here upon Midgard. I am unaware as to how much time has passed since…" He trailed off, one hand rising unconsciously to touch his ruined lips softly.

Bruce, ignoring the derogatory calmly, sighed and glanced at Natasha. "Will you fix him some soup, please? I want to examine him, if he'll let me?" The last bit was spoken as a question as his dark eyes fixated back onto the seated god. Loki seemed extremely wary about this – after all, this was the same man who had used his face to do a little redecorating of the floor of the very room they were sitting in. Bruce seemed to sense this and allowed a smile to curl his lips. "I won't let the Other Guy out unless you give me good reason."

The god scoffed softly, but seemed to relent. "Very well." As Natasha left the room for the kitchen, Loki slowly managed to pull his six foot two frame upright, swaying slightly as he did so. It was the first chance the others really got to look at him since they'd brought him to Stark Tower; he wore a dark tunic that hung off of his slender frame, with a pair of leather pants that seemed almost too big. He lacked the little throwing knives that some of them – Clint, Tony, and Natasha included – had seen on his person the last time. Bruce had been right, Loki wasn't just thin, he _was_ emaciated. Yet he had lost none of the fire in his pale oculars as he glared about at them, finally looking at Bruce.

The doctor motioned for the deity to follow him out and led the way into a room that was set up almost like a hospital room; a place where the Avengers could get their wounds treated without having to go to an actual hospital. It was very clear from the disgusted expression on Loki's face that this was not something he'd prefer to be doing, but he cooperated in silence as Banner listened to his heart and checked his weight. His heart beat strongly enough, though his pulse was still rather weak, indicative of a low blood pressure. However, despite the wounds on his visage, the god did not seem to be injured beyond that, though Banner noted what looked like rope burns on his biceps. It pieced together the puzzle that he had been mulling over since the god's arrival and awakening. Clearly part of his punishment had been being tied down at some point, and the wounds and blisters around his mouth and jaws looked like acid of some kind. He motioned toward them slowly, keeping every gesticulation casual so as not to startle – and inadvertently piss off – the god. "What happened?"

Loki made a noise between a scoff and a chuckle as he pulled his tunic back on. "Parts one and two of my punishment. These," He brushed one long finger over the blisters, "were from a serpent that they hung above me while I was tied down. It dripped venom onto and into my mouth." The god leaned heavily against the table as he spoke, eyes downcast. "The stitches were to keep me from talking while I was in exile; first on the ruins of Jotunheim, then here on Midgard. They would have come out, eventually, but I am…grateful that they were removed more swiftly." Surprising both the doctor and the Russian who walked in the door at that moment, Loki dipped his head appreciatively to them. "As I said before, time does not flow the same as it does here – it has been much longer on Asgard and Jotunheim than it has here."

Natasha held out a bowl of soup for him, a light broth with just a few noodles and pieces of chicken in it. Loki took it quietly, more relieved than he cared to admit. "How long was it there?" She enquired curiously, settling down on a chair to watch him eat.

At Loki's look of blank confusion, Dr. Banner spoke up quietly, "It's been two years here, if that helps."

They saw his ruined mouth form the words 'two years' mutely before he roughly shook his head. "Two decades, perhaps? I am uncertain." He did not mention that most of his time had been spent under the serpent or roaming endlessly throughout the planet he had sought to destroy and thus, that his idea and perception of time itself was weak – if not entirely nonexistent now.

Natasha and Bruce exchanged a stunned look. Two decades of being tortured seemed too much even if he did deserve most of it. While the deity ate the soup, Natasha spoke up again. "So your Allfather—"

Loki lifted his head slowly and locked his gaze onto her, his pale eyes blazing with a feral light that told her and Bruce very clearly that were he not weak and outnumbered, she'd be dead where she stood for that statement. "_The_ Allfather. He is not mine. _He will never be mine._" Each syllable that was dragged from between his gritted teeth was laced with poisonous loathing, his fingers closing into a fist so tightly that his blunt nailed left half-moon crescents on his palm.

"Sorry." The Russian woman said softly, holding up both hands – she had struck a nerve without meaning to and truly was sorry for what she had said. "The Allfather sent you to Earth? I wonder why." Her words trailed off as she watched him resume his meal, trembles making his shoulders shake beneath the clothing he wore.

"I imagine that Odin knew S.H.I.E.L.D would find him sooner or later. That and I doubt there is another alien army waiting to be brought through an intergalactic portal, hm?" Banner's voice was mildly sarcastic as he began putting various pieces of equipment away, a half-smile quirking at the corners of his lips.

The god laughed softly, something like mirth in it though it was tainted by madness. "No, there is no other army. When the Iron Man sent that…explosive device into space, he obliterated their ship, which controlled them. Only their leader lives now and he is far into the vast reaches of space, where no one can find him." The explanation left his lips in a way that told the two Avengers that Loki wasn't truly paying attention to what he was saying. Whether exhaustion was the blame for this or if the god really did not care what information he passed to them, they could not be certain. Loki set aside the nearly empty bowl of soup and raked a long fingered hand through his matted hair, upper lip curling back even though it hurt to do so. He was filthy, covered in the muck and grime of three different realms now, and truly wanted little more than a few hours to rest undisturbed and in peace – without needing to worry about being attacked, beaten, or killed. He knew – because he was a strategist and easily capable of thinking like the Avengers – that they would not let him go so long as he was on Midgard (or so they seemed to believe, underestimating him as ever) but the god was not interested in fighting. All he really wanted was a chance to retreat and lick his numerous wounds for a few days.

"Tony set up a room for you, if you want to shower and sleep. Steve would probably loan you a set of clothes, if he's asked nicely enough." Banner gave Natasha a curious look and she nodded, clearly setting off to go and ask the undead soldier if he would do exactly that.

"That would be most welcome." Loki said softly, but Bruce noticed that even when he seemed to be thanking them for something, he still twisted and inflected the words in a mocking and condescending sort of manner. It would get him hurt soon, the doctor mused.

Nodding instead of speaking his thoughts aloud, Bruce motioned for the god to follow and led him back into the main room. After a quick word, Tony led the god – who was beginning to get thoroughly tired of being led around like a dog on a rope – to a room. The room was spacious enough, not nearly as large as his chambers on Asgard, but comfortable nonetheless. It was decorated in golds and silvers, not exactly his favourite style – it lacked a lot of green – but would do. He did not intend to remain long. Tony pushed a set of jeans and a plain black t-shirt into his hands and left. Loki, sneering faintly at the articles of Midgardian clothing, heard a complex locking system activate as the door shut and heard the sound of air hissing – he was sealed in. Fine with him. With a sneer that twisted his visage to look like a mask, he tossed the clothing to the ground and removed much of his clothing. Leaving on only his pants, he collapsed facedown onto the bed and allowed sleep to take him, for now trusting the Avengers to leave him be so he could rest.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I own neither Marvel's  The Avengers nor any of its respective characters. This was written for fun and to improve my own writing skills.

**Character(s): **Loki, the Avengers (yes…all of them…well, except Thor)

**Rating: **T

**Prompt: **None

**Word Count: **3,164

**Setting: **Stark Tower

**Suggested Song: **Dirt and Roses – Rise Against

**Notes:** Well, lucky readers, you get this chapter quite a bit earlier than intended! I'm going out of state til Tuesday and won't be going a lot of writing if any, so I decided to go ahead and post this up for you lovelies! However, I do need your help. I need to know what you want to happen next – I have several ideas of which way to turn the story, ranging from it becoming a way for Loki to redeem himself to having him pretend to be on their side, as well as many other ideas. So please let me know, via reviews, comments, or by message, what _you_ want to see. This is your story as much as it is mine!

* * *

"So you mean to tell me that the most dangerous threat mankind has encountered in its entire, _long_ history is sleeping in one of the rooms at Stark Tower, unguarded, because you all felt _sorry for him?_" Director Nick Fury's voice rose with every syllable to leave it as he glared down at the Avengers seated around the table. He was standing at the head of it, hands braced against the dark glass, glaring through one eye at the team of heroes – none of whom were currently daring to look at him. They had spent the last hour and a half explaining what they had found in the field they had been sent to investigate, as well as explaining what Loki had done and said thus far. Fury was not entirely impressed with the actions of the team of superheroes that he had brought together two years ago, even though he could see the wisdom of the actions. From what they had described, the God of Mischief and Lies was weak and tired, not a serious threat so long as he stayed that way. Glowering still at the Avengers, Directory Fury sunk down into a chair and waited, deadly patient, for one of them to grow a set and talk.

The Avengers, such as it was, looked rather like a bunch of scolded schoolchildren, looking at the ground, the table, examining their hands – basically looking anywhere other than at their angry Director. After a moment, Tony Stark spoke up. "Um…yep, that's basically what we're saying. But he is guarded. Jarvis has him on round-the-clock surveillance and unless he suddenly gains a lot of strength, he isn't getting out of that room tonight." Stark leaned back in his chair, casually crossing his arms behind his head and stifling a yawn. The arc reactor on his chest gleamed in the dark room, providing an eerie sort of light for which to see by.

Fury exhaled and briefly held his head in his hand, shaking it slowly. "And what, dare I ask, are you going to do with him when he does gain that strength back?"

It was Banner who answered that question. "From what he told Natasha and I, he means no harm to Earth this time. At least, no major harm. We could bring him here to S.H.I.E.L.D if it became necessary where you could keep an eye on him. But we all know how well that worked out last time. What I suggest is letting him stay with us at the Tower until he gets better – which is going to take a while, he is extremely sick – and when he does get better, we'll let him go but keep an eye on him." The doctor gave a tired shrug. "It's the best plan we have right now."

Fury gesticulated with one annoyed hand toward the table. "We are _not_ letting him out on the innocents. I don't give a damn if he doesn't have another army waiting, he's still too damn dangerous."

"So, what?" Natasha cut in. "We just keep him locked up until we start dying off and the new generation replaces us or until he gets bored and starts picking us off one by one? Director, we _all_ know that the only reason we got him on the Helicarrier last time was because _that was exactly where he wanted to be._" She crossed her arms over her chest, shifting her weight against the back of her chair while looking down the table at the director of the spy agency.

Barton, sitting down next to Natasha, spoke up then. "Why not try to contact Thor to have him brought back to their realm? Let them take care of their spoiled brat."

Banner was shaking his head before Clint even finished speaking. "You heard him, he's exiled. The Asgardians probably don't want him there anymore than we want him here – he brought them to the brink of war as well." The doctor rubbed his eyes, blinking away sleep from them. "Look, Director, it's nearly four in the morning, we're exhausted. Why don't we sleep on this and call a meeting in a day or two?"

"I agree, we all could use the sleep. It will be easier to come up with something with clear heads." Steve said, rising from his seat and glancing around at his companions. With effort, they all stood as well. Once Fury agreed to meet with them in two days' time, they quietly departed.

Inside the limousine that had been driven to the New York S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters, they collapsed down, irritable and overly tired. Tony fixed Bruce with a look. "What did Mr. Horns tell you?"

The doctor rolled his eyes. "Everything we told Fury. It would hardly be smart to hide anything from them, now would it? Besides, they need to know what we know; it's probably the only way we'll be able to keep him under control."

"The best way to keep him "under control" would be the lock the fucker up." Barton growled the words; Natasha reached out and quietly took his hand in hers, squeezing it to calm her friend.

"And if that's what S.H.I.E.L.D decides to do with him, so be it. But I have a feeling we're going to be the ones paying for our mercy." Captain Rogers spoke quietly, clearly attempting not to yawn during the middle of his words.

No one had an answer to that cryptic statement and silence fell over the vehicle as it navigated the streets of Manhattan – busy even at four in the morning. The Avengers were lost in their own thoughts, each one contemplating through a haze of exhaustion the strange events that had taken place over the last few hours. None of them had ever expected to see the wanted war criminal again, and each of them were wondering how the murderous god would be handled. If the World Security Council got wind that Loki was back on earth, they would insist that he be tried for crimes against humanity and punished in whatever way they saw fit. But the Avengers knew better – even weakened and ill, Loki presented a danger that no bars would hold back. They could remember all too well what it had been like the first time, when he'd been captured and imprisoned; like Natasha had said, he'd only been restrained for as long as he had because it suited his plan. As far as they knew, there was no plan and thus, no reason for the god to go along with anything they wanted him too. As they all knew, a pissed off deity generally did whatever that pissed off deity wanted to do.

Arriving back at the tower, they went upstairs to Tony's sweeping penthouse floor first, looking around in silence. After ascertaining that the god had not gone anywhere and was still sleeping, the Avengers parted and went to their own floors, scattered here and there throughout the tower for their comfort. Only Tony stayed awake a while longer, looking into the room using JARVIS's security feed. Loki had sprawled out across the bed, not bothering to get under the covers, one arm curled around the pillow, the other resting near his side, fingers splayed open. Even sleeping he projected an aura of malice, as though anyone foolish enough to even dare to disturb him would find themselves being hurled bodily from the room. A shudder ran through Stark as he lifted one hand to touch his throat, remembering all too well the strength in those fingers and how it had felt to be thrown from his own building. It was a sensation he did not believe he would ever forget; being face to face with the much taller male, feeling his breath catch in his throat as he called out commands to JARVIS. Shivering again, he killed the feed to the room and staggered to his own, deciding several hours of sleep were more than necessary.

* * *

Loki came back to the world of the waking very slowly, as though his befuddled and weary brain would have much rather remained asleep. Lethargically, the god lifted himself into a sitting position, blinking sleep from bleary green orbs. Sunlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, blindingly bright after the darkness of his sleep. His senses told him he had slept entirely too long and his body was suffering the consequences of that. But worst was the confusion; for a very long moment, he had no idea where he was or how he had come to be sleeping on this wide and comfortable bed. A hand rose to touch his lips and the memories poured back in, how the Avengers had rescued him from the field and then freed his aching mouth from the punishment. Loki scowled, pushing away the feeling of gratitude and lifting himself to his feet. He glanced at the door, wondering if it would be worth trying to get out of the room and decided that, at the moment, he was perfectly content to be locked up, thank you very much. At least being in here meant that none of them could offend or anger him. Uttering a mutely displeased noise, he bent over and picked up the articles of clothing that the undead soldier had allowed him to borrow. The materials were nowhere near as fine as his leather and metal outfit that he'd have preferred but it would do for now.

It took him only a few minutes to figure out how to operate the shower without either scalding or freezing his flesh. He might not have been from this planet, but he still functioned at a higher thinking level than the vast majority of the human race – and the Asgardian race, for that matter. The water felt good on his skin, soothing away the aches and pains that lingered on from his time under the serpent and in exile. It was a sincere relief to wash away the sweat and grime from his body, to cleanse the grease from his hair so that the locks – longer than he liked now – fell sleek and clean against his nape. While drying off, he examined himself more closely in the mirror. _Gaunt_ was hardly the correct word to describe him; the monstrous doctor had been accurate in his assessment that the God of Mischief was emaciated. His cheeks and eyes were sunken, much like they had been after he'd thrown himself through the portal caused by the Tesseract just two years ago. There was a dullness to his flesh that would only leave after he grew healthy again – which may or may not happen depending on how these humans decided to treat him. His lips warped into the murderous grin that he'd given them many times, the expression twisting his entire visage into a hateful mask.

Loki muttered a harsh expletive under his breath before tugging on the clothing that had been loaned to him. The clothing fit him well, though he could tell the shirt would be uncomfortable when he filled back out. Raking one long fingered hand through his slowly drying tresses, he moved back into the bedroom and glanced around. The god left his clothing where it lie, knowing that most of it needed to be thrown away because of the damage done to it. After glancing yet again at the door, he walked over to the window and looked out over the skyline that should have been his. Lips twisted into a sneer as he watched the insipid little ants go about their business, waddling on the streets, leaping into moving carriages, shouting and yelling at one another. They were such worthless little creatures, these mortals, fighting over the most silly of things and scrabbling to and fro to reach whatever goal they had in mind for the day. Loki abhorred them with a passion matched only by his hatred for the Allfather. They had no idea the true potential that lied, untapped, in their minds – Loki knew though. He had seen it, in the archer, in the scientist, in those he had turned to his cause. The human mind was a beautiful thing when it was used in full.

A click behind him made the god whirl, tensing instantaneously in preparation for a fight. However, the door opened to reveal the Iron Man, though no clad in the suit today. "You can come out and eat if you can behave." Stark said loftily, the tone making the already irritable god twitch slightly.

Loki prowled slowly toward the door as Tony Stark moved away from it. He was wary about being alone with any of them, but the call of food was one difficult even for a god who never ate much to ignore. He stood in the doorway for a long moment, assessing the situation. Stark, Barton, and Natasha were all in his sights then, each of them watching him as warily as he was watching them. He could sense the others moving about but did not see them, which did nothing to calm him. But he masked the feelings casually and crept forward, head slightly down with shoulders rigid. Sitting on the bar was a bowl of some sort of noodles, heat wafting up from it and the strong smell of chicken coming from it. Natasha nodded encouragingly when he glanced back at them and after a long moment of hesitation, he picked up the bowl and eating utensil within it. The soup was very bland and salty, causing the god to make a face for a moment before he decided it was better than starving.

"Never thought I'd see a god eating Ramen." Stark said, a grin splitting his handsome face.

Loki growled softly, a retort flying perfectly to his lips. "Yes, well, I assumed that eating this would be better than hunting down a small child and feasting on its flesh and blood. You mortals seem to frown upon murder. What is the mortal view on cannibalism?" The god's lips morphed into the sickest grin he could force upon his maw, enjoying the revulsion that showed in their faces.

Tony's eyes widened then narrowed, anger boiling in them. "You lay a hand on any mortal, child or not, and I'll see to it that the hand is mounted on the wall."

"Ohh, did I touch a nerve?" The deity sneered cruelly, his words dripping with mirthful malice.

When Stark made to step toward him, Natasha caught him by the arm. "He's playing you, Stark. And you're letting him do it." The Russian released the billionaire after making sure he was not going to go after the god. She locked Loki with her deep green eyes then. "Are you going to behave or shall we lock you back in that room with no food?"

Loki twitched again, upper lip curling back even though it stung to do so and exposing a row of his teeth, a visceral snarl that needed no noise to be threatening. He ignored the woman and concentrated on finishing his lunch – dinner? He had no idea what time it was – trying also not to think too hard on how surrounded by enemies that he was. He could hear them moving around him, stepping lightly in wariness of garnering his wrath. It pleased him that they were wary of him, though he wanted that uneasiness to grow into fear, which would eventually grow into terror and then into hopelessness as he stripped from them everything they held dear. He already knew who he would he would begin with; the archer, Agent Barton. He would hold his promise to Agent Romanoff and have his previous second-in-command murder her slowly and carefully, in the most brutal of manners that Loki's twisted brain could come up with. It was be a slow death, one he would watch gleefully, whispering vile things to the two Agents as he forced them to fight to the death. The thought was enough to make him smile that twisted Carnival-grin and laugh.

Setting aside the near empty bowl of Ramen – as the Iron Man had called it – the god focused his gaze on three of the six Avengers. "So I assume that you went and spoke to your masters and told them that the big, bad god was back?" He smirked, stepping away from the bar and prowling very slowly around them.

"They are not our masters!" Tony snapped, glowering at the skulking deity.

"Oh? I was under the impression they held your leashes. Or are you free to roam so long as the nooses around your necks don't tighten?" He chuckled softly, moving to stand in front of the windows; the position made him seem little more than a silhouette to them and even without his armor, he cut a startlingly powerful image.

At that point, Stark lost his patience. With a noise like a snarl, he stalked toward the taller male and grabbed Loki by the collar of his shirt, dragging the god down so they were face to face in an eerie paradox of their first and last true meeting. Loki merely smirked, his eyes glittering wildly as he patiently waited for Stark to either speak or strike. "You had better pay attention and shut the fuck up for a few minutes. You may think you're all that and the ruler of the known universe, but you're not. You're nothing but a child being scolded for a tantrum, punished with no supper and sent to his room. You may have all of your powers but you're weak and you're tired and if you know what's fucking good for you, you'll behave and listen to us. It might save your life because S.H.I.E.L.D didn't seem to have anything against the idea of killing you when we spoke to them." Tony growled every word out slowly, speaking as though to someone who didn't fully grasp the English language. The billionaire shoved the god back roughly, releasing him from his grasp and glowering with utmost malice as Loki staggered back.

The God of Mischief briefly rubbed at his throat, massaging away the mild ache that had built from the grasp before laughing quietly. "You really believe that you could keep me here against my will, even as weakened as I am? I have powers you could scarcely begin to dream of, mortal peon." Loki laughed again, even softer this time, the insult made all the harsher for the soft tone he used to speak it. "Your cages cannot hold me unless I wish to be held, your precious S.H.I.E.L.D could not kill me unless I wanted to die. And believe me, Iron Man, I have no interest in death right now." With a sneer curling his ruined lips back, the god swept away from the window and stalked back toward the room that had been given to him, letting the door slam shut behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I own neither Marvel's  The Avengers nor any of its respective characters. This was written for fun and to improve my own writing skills.

**Character(s): **Loki, the Avengers (yes…all of them…well, except Thor)

**Rating: **T (warning: Loki was pissed and so he decided to play out killing each of the Avengers)

**Prompt: **None

**Word Count: **3,130

**Setting: **Stark Tower

**Suggested Song: **Feed the Machine – Red

**Notes:** Here, have a pissed off god. I'm not pleased with this chapter, just because it took too long to write and felt very off the entire time I was writing it but it was extremely necessary. In better news, I know where this is going and have a full plot and ending. There will only be another four or five chapters after this. In even better news, I have begun planning an extremely long fanfic – Avengers as well – and should start the actual writing process within a few days! Other than that, enjoy this crappy chapter, the next one should be a bit better even though it's mainly filler. Be gentle? xD (Also, you're all getting this one early cause I feel bad about being so slow about it)

* * *

It took a physical force of effort for the god not to slam the door shut behind him, but he managed not to do so because he was a god and gods generally did not go slamming about penthouses. However, he gave himself the pleasure of standing just behind the door and uttering a long, drawn out, animalistic snarl for a good minute before stalking further into the room. Who the hell did these insipid little ants think they were, to lay their hands so easily upon his flesh? Loki growled again, whirling to pace the length between the bed and the door. His fingers twitched and shivered, his powers writhing just beneath his flesh and aching to be let loose on these miserable mortals who thought themselves so much better than he. It was all Loki could do not to lash out at something; it would be so simple for him to shatter the bed into a million tiny pieces, shrapnel and splinters flying everywhere. A mere twist of his hand could easily break the window and send glass streaming down on one side to the ground so many hundreds of feet below; simply a look could send the balcony on the opposite side of the room crashing down to land upon some poor soul, ending their despondent lives. He drew his ruined lips back from his teeth in a Cheshire contortion that made him look more evil than ever before, sharpening his cheekbones, hollowing out his visage, giving his eyes a manic look.

A rough shake of his head dispelled the expression and made his overly long locks tickle his neck. An irritable twitch was given in response to this. Hissing like an angered serpent, he stalked over to the bed and collapsed onto it, letting his gaze find a random spot on the ceiling. It was rare that Loki slept in full, but sleep was not his intention as he lay there, enjoying the embrace of the high quality silk, eyes slowly closing as he let his greatest weapon come into play – his mind. They thought themselves better than him; he knew it in every look that was shot his way, the condescending manner in which they spoke to him. They did not _fear_ him as they needed to and that was something that rubbed his skin raw. Anger bled into his senses and his fingers coiled into the sheets, blunt nails digging into the silk as though it was flesh that could be stripped from bone. Loki growled again, eyelids parting lethargically to stare upwards. His eyes glowed like mercurial flame, sinister, evil, wicked. This was not the God of Mischief, the Trickster who enjoyed teasing, taunting, testing. This was the God of Chaos, of Evil, of Lies – the Silvertongue who crafted sin with his words, who brought down nations and empires with little more than thought. And it was the Silvertongue as well as the brilliant mind that went to work in releasing anger, envisioning the individual deaths of the Avengers.

Barton and the Russian would be first. The smile that warped his visage at the thought of those two would have caused the elderly to have heart attacks. He would do exactly what he had wanted to do before and he wouldn't need the sceptre to do it. He would use his voice alone, twist the archer's mind until obeying Loki was no longer a choice – not only no longer a choice but a joy, something he ached to do. He would have the man destroy Natasha Romanoff, rip her to shreds in front of the god, who would watch and laugh and tease. And it wouldn't just be a physical death but a mental one as well. He would have Barton rend Natasha open from the inside out, starting in that brilliant brain of hers, tearing it into minute pieces which Loki would examine and poke and prod until he lost interest. And then – and only then – would the physicality of the murder start and Barton would destroy her. "Slowly. Intimately." Loki smiled as he repeated his own words back to himself. He would relish – _savour_ – the death of her and then he would turn the archer's own hand against himself, force the man to slit his own throat or tear out his own heart. It was be a beautiful death, befitting the sentimental friendship the two shared.

Next would come the self-proclaimed genius. All of Tony Stark's machines and cunning would not save him from the Wrath of a god wronged. Loki would not use a pawn in this death – he would stain his hands crimson with the Man of Iron's own blood. The savage grin returned to his lips as he played out various scenarios in his mind. Several involved him battling Stark in the Iron Man suit, tearing pieces off of it and ripping away flesh as well. At his full power, not held back by the need to lead an army to victory, he could focus wholly on hacking this man apart, pulling on the threads of his over-inflated ego and tearing it to shreds. A murderous laugh that was barely above a whisper escaped from him, lashes fluttering against his sunken cheeks as another scenario arose in his mind. The woman Stark was with, Pepper Potts, would serve as a target and he would use the woman against the billionaire, use her to wield Stark as a weapon against his own. He would make him choose: The woman or the Avengers? "And who would you pick, Stark? You can only save so many." Loki whispered the words out softly, the murderous grin still twisting his delicate countenance into a mockery of its normal handsome cast.

The undead Captain would be the one he would target next. Loki uttered a heartless laugh as he picked the way he would kill this one, barely even needing to think on it. Words, nothing but words – he would drive Captain Rogers to kill himself with just his vocalizations alone. He would weave a web of carefully constructed lies into the man's brain, twisting the synapses of his mental sphere and contorting them into an entirely different manner. It would be so easy that it would nearly be sad – the man wrapped himself in a cloak of sentimentality that Loki would rip off of him and expose him to the harsh reality of real life. He would make the soldier realize that he was utterly alone; everyone he had known from before the ice and the cold and the sleep was _dead_ and was never coming back. Loki would make him realize that the Avengers tolerated him, but did not like him; that he was their leader only because Fury appointed him as it. He was useless, _useless, useless._ "Nothing but a wasted experiment." Loki whispered the words with a sinister laugh.

Would it be worth going after Banner or Thor? Could Banner even be killed, with that mutation sleeping in his mind? Loki sat up slowly, reaching up idly and touching a spot on his countenance where he'd been injured by the beast. Though he was not scared of the doctor, there was a certain amount of trepidation in his heart concerning the man. After all, one did not form a bosom friendship with the man whose other personality had forcibly introduced you to the floor a few times. Coiling one limb beneath himself, he leaned his elbow against his knee and cupped his chin in his hand, staring out the window at the broken skyline. Going against Banner would require more cunning than anything but Loki was not certain it would be wise at all. He had heard, while sitting in the cage on the aircraft, how the doctor had tried to kill himself and failed. Something like a chill ran down the god's spine; failure was not something he dealt with well and he did not want to entertain the idea of having to deal with that disappointment. Thus, he decided that killing Banner would be something he'd leave to those far stronger than he.

This left the problem of Thor. His brother. Not brother. Loki cringed, rising to his feet and beginning his restless pacing once more. Thor, who had always been at his side. Thor, who had loved him without condition for so long. Thor, who championed for him on Asgard, who had protected him from a life spent eternally in the darkness. Thor, who had always, _always_ given a damn, no matter how badly Loki had messed something up. Somehow the god found himself standing at the window, sunlight streaming over his flesh and was reminded of Thor in a much more visceral manner than he'd ever wanted. A fist rose and slammed against bullet-proof glass, making it tremble from the force. Loki's eyes were bright with unshed tears, the maddened grin gone from his visage now. "_Sentiment._" He snarled the word out even as tears trickled down his skeletal countenance. He should slay Thor with a fervor unmatched by any of the deaths of the Avengers. He should make the bastard bleed for all the times Loki had felt inadequate, useless, _weak._ But he couldn't and for that he loathed himself more than ever – more than when he was being tortured by the Chitauri, more than when he was face to face with Thor on the mountain, more than when he was bound and gagged and brought back to Asgard to face his trial.

He whirled away from the window, wiping the tears from his face roughly. He did not want to think on his time on Asgard recently, did not want to contemplate how close he had come to be locked in a cell for the remainder of his immortal life. The people had screamed for his death, for imprisonment and torture and all sorts of hell that Loki had already _been through_. He had longed to tell the throng that they had nothing on the Chitauri when it came to torture and not even the Asgardian's most masterful punishers could have made him scream like those monsters had. In the end, though, Thor had won out over the masses and the serpent, combined with the stiches that held his maw together for almost a decade, and then exile had been his punishment. Loki trembled, thinking of the cave and the shadow of the snake above his head, how terribly the venom had pained him. He would not go back there, even if the only other option was death. He would not face that again.

Pale eyes raked the room slowly. There was a stone cold truth beginning to take root in his mind: he could not stay here. This tower had enemies a-plenty and already they had threatened to kill him, lock him up, hurt him. Loki would be damned before he let anyone maim or torture him again, much less restrain or slaughter him. He had to leave Stark Tower, had to leave this den of serpents who sought to coil around him and keep him forever enslaved. He would go into the wilds, regain his strength, regain his powers, his weight, his everything and then he would leave Midgard, using whatever means he had to. He would not stay on this miserable, polluted planet with its wretched insects and pathetic pseudo-rulers. He had not wanted to be here in the first place, this planet he had failed to conquer; just another notch on the post of his failures. Loki wanted nothing more to do with Midgard and would happily watch it burn into ashes from another realm, safe and content in his absolute solitude. So he would leave and that would be the end of that.

The God of Mischief moved back to the bed and lowered himself down again. He would leave that night, when the Avengers slept, spiriting away like a phantom in the night. In the meantime, he would rest as much as his restless mind would allow him to. Eyelids slowly lowered over his pale orbs, casting his vision to blackness but doing nothing to still the rapid thoughts in his mind. Now all he could see was various ways of Midgard getting blown to pieces, each one more creative and horrific for the humans than the last one. It amused him far more than it should have, and after a while, was enough to calm his brain into sleep.

* * *

The doorknob opened without him having to touch it, the faint glimmer of magic sparkling in the air before he released the spell, allowing the door to swing silently inward. He moved without sound, less than a thought, keeping to the safety of the shadows. His senses warned him that the Russian woman and the doctor were both still awake and not too far away, but he was confident in his abilities to get away within alerting them – too confident, as it transpired.

"Where are you going, Loki?" Natasha's voice wafted from the living room, where she sat half-veiled in darkness. He could see Dr. Banner sitting on the couch, illuminated in the moonlight streaming in from the window.

The god responded with the first thing that came to his mind. "As far away from here as I can." He regretted it the moment it left his lips, for it was not his way to speak before thinking. He watched Natasha rise and walk leisurely toward him, his muscles slowly tensing.

"And how do you intend to do that, hm?" Her tone was oddly gentle. "You have no money, a borrowed pair of clothing, no weapons. You're in a city of people who know what you look like because for the past year and a half your face has been all over our news. A city full of people who would gladly attack you if given the chance." She stepped a bit closer to him, looking up into his pale and emaciated visage. "Even if you do get out of the city, where would you go?"

Loki wavered, torn. She was laying out things he had not truly considered, something very out of character for him. It was not like him at all to rush full-tilt into something without first considering all of the angles and details and loopholes. _At what point did I start becoming like Thor?_ Slowly, he shook his head, words coming sluggishly. "Anywhere. Into the woods, the wilds. This country is massive, there are places to escape to."

It was not, however, Natasha Romanoff who answered, but Bruce Banner. "That is not a life fit for anyone. I tried that." He remained on the couch, but was watching the two with a curious, non-hostile expression.

A feeling very much like panic flooded through Loki's system, almost like a drug. Restlessness took control and he paced, short quick steps back and forth just inches from Natasha. He hated that they were right, hated even more the sympathy that he could feel from both of them. He didn't need their damned sympathy, just another sentiment that was useless to him in the end. This was why he needed away from them, away from these lost souls and wanderlust creatures who drove him mad and messed with all the careful ideals he had formed for himself. He could not stay here. That was something he knew all too well. But it was very clear they were not going to just let him walk away without a fight. S.H.I.E.L.D had likely told them to make certain that he did not leave whatsoever. Fingers clenched together as he felt a concentrated rush of magic sweep through him, demanding he fight, act, do something other than stand there confused.

"I _cannot_ stay here." The words came out ragged and harsh, his breathing rough as he stood just inches away from the Russian spy, every muscle rigid. "I can't."

Natasha's voice was calm and official sounding when she spoke, lacking any sort of sympathy. "When S.H.E.I.L.D is convinced that you pose no great threat to society, they will allow you to leave. But as they are not certain yet, we cannot allow you to leave and we _will_ use force if you do not cooperate."

Bruce rose and walked over quietly, watching the god with interested eyes. "At any rate, you're not fit enough to be on your own. You're still weak and unsteady – don't shake your head at me, I can see it!" His voice took on the sharpness of a doctor dealing with a fussy patient; Loki resisted the urge to simultaneously sulk and glower. "Assuming that you continue eating and resting, it'll be at least a week before you're even fit to go outside, much less set off into the wilds. Stay and when you start feeling and looking better, we'll have a meeting with S.H.I.E.L.D."

Loki's eyes narrowed as he whirled away from them both and paced again, fingers twitching slightly. As loath as he was to admit it, he knew they were right. There was no way the spy agency was going to let him escape and truthfully, he had little energy to run from them when there was no plan for subjugation and domination. For a moment, he splayed a long fingered hand against the wall and held himself there, a sudden exhaustion flooding over him and threatening to knock him off his feet. He had no desire to sit and talk and wait for them to make a decision that should have been his; he wanted to run away for a while and then leave this wretched realm he'd been exiled to. He would not have admitted it aloud (and in truth was even wary of thinking it) but he missed the frigid temperatures of Jotunheim, where at least there he could get lost in the snows and winds. He might not have wanted to claim that part of his lineage, but at least there he would be left alone because he could cloak himself invisible. He abhorred _Earth_ and its petty people and he knew so long as he remained here, S.H.I.E.L.D would never let him have a day or a moment of rest.

"Fine. Two weeks. At the end of two weeks, I'm leaving and anyone who dares to attempt to stop me _dies._" The warning was growled out of his throat in a feral, animalistic noise, making both Avengers flinched slightly. He held and met their gazes until he was certain the message had sunk in before turning and returning silently to his room.

Natasha and Bruce looked at one another without words, unsure of how to take the blatant threat. Then, still mutely, they returned to their respective floors.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **I own neither Marvel's  The Avengers nor any of its respective characters. This was written for fun and to improve my own writing skills.

**Character(s): **Loki, the Avengers (yes…all of them…well, except Thor)

**Rating: **T

**Prompt: **None

**Word Count: **3,287

**Setting: **Stark Tower

**Suggested Song: **Comeback – Redlight King (Does anyone else find this to be the perfect Loki song?)

**Notes:** This was fun to write xD I feel they were much more into character here than before and Fury is just so much fun to write. I do want to address a couple of things: firstly, this story wasn't meant to become more than a one shot, so if it seems off in writing style to other things I do, that's why. This is the first long thing I've written and published, so it's strange to tie everything in together. Secondly, I have another in the works, which I believe I discussed last chapter? I've completed the prologue and once I have up to chapter two written (as well as a title, I suck at those) I'll get it up. It is much more mature than this one. Other than that, enjoy a nice, chatty chapter, as well as a moving along plot.

* * *

"He said two weeks. It's been one." Natasha's voice was cool when she spoke, though her words held nothing of the sharpness that should have been there.

"We all know that threat was empty. Even with his powers and soon to be two weeks of rest, he isn't strong enough to mount an attack on us in our own home." Bruce, too, mimicked her cool tone, each word calm and concise. It was clear that neither of them had taken Loki's threat at seriously as they had pretended to.

Loki lingered in the shadows, listening to the meeting that was going on between the Avengers and their master, Nick Fury. He had sensed the Director of S.H.E.I.L.D come in about fifteen minutes earlier and deduced that they were unwilling to leave him in the tower alone. It pleased the god greatly that they recognized his danger, even if they had seen through his bluff. It wouldn't matter in the end, though, because he would escape from this hellhole of a tower and flee. He would get off of Midgard and eventually, he would find his way back to Asgard, where he belonged. It seemed that they were going to let him go without a fuss provided that he allow them to track his movements so long as he was on Midgard. _I think not._ The god thought coldly, listening now as Stark spat out an opinion that was as meaningless and foolish as the man himself was. S.H.I.E.L.D and their lapdogs seemed to think that he was their personal pet to be paraded about, and oh how wrong they were. He pitied the next fool that decided to lay a hand upon his flesh without his invitation first.

"Empty or not, we cannot allow him out onto the public without some way to control him." Fury's voice cut across Stark once again. "If by some chance he _does_ have another army lying in wait, we have to have some sort of leverage over that. And even if he doesn't, I want that fucker tracked. I don't tr—"

Loki's fluid chuckle broke the next word into splinters as he all but melted from the darkness he'd been eavesdropping in. The sudden silence that befell the room was as sweet as sugar to him. "Director, you _wound_ me." The tall god came to stand next to Fury's chair, smiling most serenely, splaying a spider-like hand over his chest in mock pain.

"Yeah, I'd sure as hell like to wound you. How long have you been lurking?"

"Oh, long enough. I'm flattered you find me a threat enough to want to track me like some shark in the ocean, but I assure you, Director, my intentions go so far as to get off this wretched realm and little more than that." A lazy grin traced his lips as the lanky creature settled in a chair next to Steve Rogers, who shifted for a second before straightening his shoulders pointedly. The grin widened wickedly. Loki leaned forward in the chair, verdant eyes twinkling evilly. Outside, thunder shook the windows, New York caught in a summer storm. "Tell me, Director, how do you plan on getting this tracking device into me? You should know by now that if I do not want to be caught, you will not get your hands on me."

"Oh, you wanna bet?" Tony growled, reaching out to grab Loki's arm – only to have his hand pass through with a hissing sort of noise. The clone vanished as the real Loki reappeared behind Fury's chair.

The display was enough to give the Avengers pause. In the past week, the god had been keeping mostly to himself but when he did emerge from his room, it was generally to pull some sort of trick on whichever unlucky superhero was around at the time. All of them – except for Bruce, whom Loki was very willing to give his full space – had suffered some sort of small prank. The Trickster's games were harmless and whatever he took, hid, or magicked generally was returned, reappeared, or went back to normal within a few hours. It was merely a reminder to the team that he was there and was not exactly the obedient pup they seemed to want to make him into. But this was a hard reminder of the fact that they harbored one of the most dangerous criminals to ever set foot on the face of the planet and the fact that said criminal was not in the best of moods after a week and two days of being cooped up.

"Behave." Banner said quietly, arching a brow at the obviously entertained god. Loki's eyes narrowed but he said nothing and instead leaned against the wall. Bruce and Natasha were the only ones he seemed to listen to, even begrudgingly and none of them had any real idea why. Bruce was obvious, it was still clear that Loki felt some sort of fear toward the man, but Natasha made little sense, as he could have snapped her in half if he really wanted to. She suspected it was respect, because she felt some for him as well. After all, Loki respected intelligence, and not the sort of intelligence that Stark possessed. He understood strategy and chain of command and that was something Natasha respected as well; in that, they had a ground on which they could stand with one another.

Fury sighed heavily. "None of your actions so far have convinced me that you're not a threat. Lying is what you do. You've given us no reason to trust you."

"Nor do I intend to. People are more inclined to fear those they do not trust. However, Director, if you truly wish to track me while I regain my strength in the wilds of America and then leave to realms unknown, be my guest." He stepped forward, extending a forearm, lips twisting into a mirthless smile that was a blatant and cruel dare. His eyes were glittering with challenge, all but begging Fury to try to touch him so that the anger he felt in his heart could explode out. "But I fear you will grow bored of the view sooner than you think. After all, I do not have the medicinal knowledge that dear Dr. Banner has, so you will find no entertainment in watching me heal little boys and girls from disease." The smile widened by two teeth on each side. "Nor do I have Agents Romanoff and Barton's skill sets to hunt down people S.H.I.E.L.D wants destroyed. You will find me a boring subject to study, supping on plants and the raw meat of deer."

By the end of his little monologue, Loki had leaned down into the Director's face, growling each word out in a fearful rasp that would have made a weaker man faint. But Nick Fury hadn't become director of the most powerful agency in the world by being weak at heart. He shoved the god back with a glare and stood to his full height. Loki only backed off about half a step, so they stood toe to toe, glowering at one another from almost the same height. They cut a formidable stance, standing in front of the window as lightning etched the sky and rain sluiced down the bullet-proof glass. Loki wore a tiny smile that contrasted to the twisted sneer that Fury bore. The Director was half an inch taller than the god, but they stared one another directly in the eye, a staring match for the ages.

"You talk a big game, Loki, but you test my patience. You may think that you're all that, but S.H.I.E.L.D is more than capable of holding you. We have many things that could dampen your powers and we have zero problem keeping you in such agony for the remainder of your time alive that you couldn't even fucking move. So don't pull that holier-than-thou attitude with me. God or not, you're still under the control of the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D right now." Fury spoke in a quiet and measured tone, keeping his dark eye locked onto Loki's pale and glittering spheres.

Murderous loathing coloured Loki's pale eyes, which were narrow. "Control." He said the two-syllable word like it was the foulest swear known to the realms. "I think, Director Fury, that you and I have a very different meaning for that word. I hope that one day our meanings will coincide." The smile dimmed faintly as he backed away. When he spoke again, his voice had taken on that of a command, layered with anger and dripping in a deadly promise. "You will put nothing in my flesh, though if you wish to have your precious agents follow me around until I leave Midgard, by all means, feel free. It will entertain me to hear their screams as they attempt to follow me to places no mortal can reach." With that, the god raked them all a sneer and left the room, melting back into the darkness just beyond the doorway to finish listening to their conversation.

"Charming fellow." Tony said, leaning back in his chair. He had recovered swiftly from the shock of his hand going right through Loki's arm.

Fury sunk back into his chair, glowering at the billionaire mutely. He knew, deep down, that the god was right and that nothing S.H.I.E.L.D could do in the end would stop Loki from leaving or vanishing if he truly wanted to. He also knew that the only reason Loki had stayed the week there so far was because it was incredibly convenient. He was a strategist and a good one at that. Stark Tower provided him with everything he needed to get better; food, shelter, clothing, running water. It was a safe haven despite the fact that it was a nest of enemies. In the last week, the Avengers had been watching him carefully and though he was still too thin and his face still had not fully healed, he was looking better than when they had first found him. He was regaining control over his powers faster than any of them had guessed him capable of doing so and it was a little unnerving to know that he could have lashed out at the meeting and probably killed any one of them if he had so chosen to do so. Yet it was also obvious that he had no interest in causing trouble beyond stirring them all up and pissing them off; he'd been friendly enough to talk to Bruce and Natasha, the two he found most intriguing. The others he left alone. The problem, of course, was that he was a loose cannon. There was no predictability about him, no way of knowing what he would do next and if they could stop it. That was what made him so dangerous.

"So, what, in a week we just let him walk out of here?" Stark looked around at the others, who looked about as happy as he felt.

"What choice do we really have? He seems to be telling the truth about his intentions – that or he is one incredibly good liar. I'd like to believe the best of him, though." Steve spoke quietly, looking at his hands rather than at the rest of the team.

"The best of him?" Clint snarled, half rising in his chair to glare at the Captain. "The _best_ of him used me as his personal fucking puppet for two days to wreak all sorts of hell on Manhattan. We should have killed the fucker when we had the chance."

Bruce spoke as Natasha took Clint's hand gently, pulling her friend back into his chair and speaking softly into his ear until he calmed down. "Killing him might have brought the wrath of Asgard down on us and we all know that. We have no way of knowing if the Asgardians still claim him or not. Not to mention I'm sure Thor would have been _so_ pleased with us for killing his little brother." Sarcasm dripped like water from melting ice in the last sentence.

"Enough. S.H.I.E.L.D will have two agents following him when they can. We can just hope he won't stay on Earth all that much longer." Fury ended the conversation and stood up at the same time, locking his single eye onto Natasha. "In the meantime, I have an assignment for you. I'll send the files over to you later tonight. You leave in two days."

Natasha nodded, accepting without asking that whatever it was, she would do. The meeting adjourned and Fury left the Avengers sitting together around the table, looking grim. In the two years they had all been living together, it had become difficult to accept that two of their group were still official agents and got called away to do missions. Clint and Natasha had each had three missions in the time since Loki's defeat, and while Natasha's had gone well, Clint had nearly been killed in the last one. It had been the one time the Avengers had 'assembled' in two years. It wasn't something they talked about, simply because the archer had been so adamant about pretending the fiasco had never actually happened and the others went along with it. After several moments, they all went their separate ways; Clint and Natasha together went to her room so he could help her pack things for whatever the mission would require. Steve went down to the gym to blow off some steam while Tony and Bruce went to the lab.

* * *

Much later that night, a little after midnight, Natasha and Clint stood out alone on the balcony off the main floor. She leaned against the railing with his arms around her waist, his chin resting on the top of her head. Though clouds still covered the stars, the storm had died out, leaving only a pleasant and cool wind that lifted Natasha's hair from her neck. The city was oddly quiet, something it often wasn't at night, though they both knew from experience that even New Yorkers knew when to retreat to rest. It was comforting to stand out in one another's quiet company, ignoring if only for a short while the troubles that lay heavily on their shoulders. Her assignment would take her to the West, where a small group of Russian drug dealers had set up shop in Utah; a strange, innocuous place for something of that nature, but she could see the appeal. No one would suspect them out there. It was her job to infiltrate, gather information, and take down the two leaders before getting out. Something simple, something she had done several times before.

She exhaled softly, tilting her head up and back to let her lips brush along Clint's jaw. "Try to behave while I'm gone, alright?" She murmured against his cheek, smiling.

He scoffed softly, thumb stroking the back of her hand lightly. "I always behave. You know that."

This time it was she who scoffed in amusement, before turning in his arms and letting him kiss her, long and slow. While they would both vehemently deny being lovers or intimate with one another, the whole team knew they were. It was kept quiet so that Fury wouldn't pitch a fit. After all, they'd been partners for so long that it seemed only natural for them to take the next step and become something more. They each knew it was foolish, but the heart wants, after all. Natasha sighed, resting her head on his shoulder after the kiss broke and staring silently into the house. It took her several moments to realize they were being watched and even when she did notice him, she said nothing for a bit. Loki was standing just behind the glass inside, entrenched in the shadows so that the only thing that was really visible was the glint of his eyes and the pallid hue of his flesh. When the archer realized she had gone tense, he released her and turned to see what she was looking at, his eyes immediately narrowing in hatred.

The God of Mischief stepped out onto the balcony quietly, keeping away from them but approaching the side and looking down over it mutely. Natasha observed him as he did so, her eyes as narrow as her partner's. Loki looked healthier than he had even before this, when he'd been on Earth the first time. The wounds on his face were slowly fading away, his lips had already healed, and the deep circles beneath his eyes were beginning to be replaced by healthy skin. He had regained much of the weight he had lost and while he had never stopped carrying himself like a king, he once more had the body and muscle mass to back up the haughty stance. He still looked strangely small within the leather and armor he had worn, ill fitted in Steve's borrowed clothing. But it was his eyes that she locked upon. They were a pale blue, with tiny sparkles of green and silver that would have been invisible to anyone else but she noticed as he turned the full weight of his gaze upon her. His eyes were clear and bright, not cloudy and dull like they had been for days now; for whatever purpose, something had changed inside his head and he seemed to have a reason behind his actions now.

"Are you looking forward to your mission, Agent Romanoff?" His voice was just a quiet murmur, monotonous, lacking any inflection on any word that might have made it seem harsh, but also lacking true curiosity.

"A mission keeps me from becoming too soft." She replied, equally soft. "It will be nice to go back into the field for a little while."

The corner of his mouth quirked into a tiny smirk, but his gaze flicked to the archer. "And what of you, Agent Barton? Do you wish you were going with her?"

Barton twitched, loathing the attention that his former master placed upon him. His voice was clipped and angry when he spoke. "She's perfectly capable of handlin—"

"That is not what I asked. Do you wish you were going with her?" Loki's voice pitched lower, a warning threading itself among the letters.

Clint's teeth ground together loud enough that both Natasha and Loki heard it – the god grinned his feral grin. "Yes. Like her, I'd rather be out in the field doing some good that sitting around babysitting you."

For a moment, the deity's gaze glittered with anger before it smoothed away. "Well, perhaps S.H.I.E.L.D can find something for their little bird boy to do after I've slipped away. After all, I'm sure there are plenty of people who need saving. You mortals seem to get yourself into trouble more often than not." His lips drew back slowly, exposing teeth in the smile he used on the Avengers. His eyes flicked back to the red-haired woman for a moment. "I'm just so _disappointed_ that you won't be joining the others in wishing me good luck on my travels, Agent Romanoff. Perhaps you can send me a card once you return." He chuckled coolly, moving slowly toward the building.

Just before he entered the room, he half turned to lock his eyes onto Natasha's bright green ones. "Good luck on your mission, Agent Romanoff." He purred the words out in his most silken tones, slipping from his lips and into the atmosphere, twining into her ears. Once the final syllable had ceased to ring in the distance between them, Loki slipping softly into the tower and vanished into the darkness.


End file.
